


10-108

by romanticalgirl



Series: Police Codes [2]
Category: Southland
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Officer needs assistance</p>
            </blockquote>





	10-108

**Author's Note:**

> So, [](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/profile)[**hackthis**](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/) thought Cooper would be intrigued by Ben's use of "The Cop Killer". And so this was born. Sequel to [911 Call](http://romanticalgirl.livejournal.com/776177.html).
> 
> Originally posted 8-17-09

TITLE: 10-108  
AUTHOR: Laura Smith  
PAIRING: Cooper/Sherman  
RATING: NC-17  
SUMMARY: Officer needs assistance  
DISCLAIMER: Southland and all the characters therein belong to people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, [](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/profile)[**hackthis**](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/) thought Cooper would be intrigued by Ben's use of "The Cop Killer". And so this was born. Sequel to [911 Call](http://romanticalgirl.livejournal.com/776177.html).

  
Currently, Ben Sherman’s life is defined by the constant, heavy ache in his lower body, the faint throb of his ass. He and John have been fucking for three weeks now, and every time has been different, hotter, better. Ben’s entire body has been touched and sucked. He’s been fingered, licked and fucked open and he’s done his best to return the favor, fumbling through his learning curve until he can make John gasp and writhe as well.

Still, Ben knows what John wants. It’s clear in the way John strokes the Cop Killer dildo before he slides it into Ben’s mouth, the way he teases it against Ben’s ass and never slides it home. So, Ben comes up with a plan and preps for it, launching it on their last shift of the week.

They’re the only two in the locker room, the end of their workday extended by a good two hours thanks to a domestic violence issue. Ben’s watching John through his lashes, and he can see John trying not to wince at the pain in his back.

“You want to come over for a beer?” Ben asks.

“I’m not sure I’m up for a beer, Sherman.”

Despite the regret in John’s voice, there’s enough heat and promise to make a flush creep up Ben’s neck. “I just mean a beer. Your back hurts.”

“What else would you mean, kid?” There’s amusement in John’s eyes, but a warning too, reminding Ben not to say too much.

“Are you coming over or not?”

“Are you going to feed me?”

“Jesus, you’re demanding.” Ben smiles. “Give me an hour. I have to stop by the store.”

“Okay.” John groans softly as he rubs both hands down the small of his back, arm muscles stretching the fabric of his t-shirt over his shoulders. “See you at seven.”

Ben’s half-hard before he even mounts the bike, and he’s painfully so by the time he gets home. He had everything ready before he left that morning – the food’s in the fridge all prepared, all they have to do is heat the grill. But before the food comes his real plan, which means the only thing he really has to prep once he gets home is _himself_.

He puts the porn film with the actor that looks like John in the DVD player and strips down. He’d set the Cop Killer dildo on the table beside the couch along with lube before he’d left for work, which had made his first two hours of his shift a special kind of miserable, because he couldn’t get it out of his mind.

John hadn’t helped at all, talking graphically about what he’d like to do with Ben’s hard-on from the moment they were alone in the squad car. His tone was conversational; his words hot and filthy. So vividly pornographic that Ben had made him stop the car so he could jerk off without staining his uniform. John watched Ben, rubbing himself as he did, barely waiting until Ben was finished to shove him down to his unbuttoned fly, his dick ready for Ben’s mouth. John had groaned his way through the blowjob, hand fisted in Ben’s hair, fucking his mouth deeply as he came.

Ben stared at him when he pulled back. John’s face was flushed and dark. “We c-can’t do that again. Not at work.”

Ben nodded and wiped his mouth. He knew better than to apologize, he wasn’t sorry, but being a cop meant as much to him as it did to Cooper. “Not at work.”

The rest of the day had been slightly uneasy until they’d gotten a mid-afternoon call that had ended in a car chase and a foot chase, and they fell right back into their rhythm.

Now, though, he’s home and all he wants is John’s cock again. Even though the movie is the same one he watched the first time he did this, Ben is different. He knows better this time, and he has nearly a half hour before John’s due, so he sits carefully on the towel he draped over the couch cushions. Slumping down so that he can spread his legs wide enough that he can slide his fingers over the flat plane of his perineum, rubbing it slowly, carefully until they brush his hole, making the muscle tighten reflexively. He breathes roughly, his chest heaving as he brushes it again.

He fumbles for the lube with his free hand, flicking the lid open and pouring a generous amount on his fingers. It’s cool enough to seem cold on his skin and he shivers, pressing his fingers to his hole again. He fights to catch his breath as he works one finger in, his body clenching around the intrusion.

“ _Oh_ ,” he moans, working the finger deeper, trying to spread his legs further. He bites his lip, moans slipping out regardless. He’s always surprised by how tight he is, how John can fill him full, shaking with it, and yet every time he needs to be fingered and lubed and lubed and sucked open to take him again.

Ben slips a second finger in, a shudder ripping through him. His cock is against his stomach, leaving wet trails on his skin with every thrust of his fingers, and all Ben wants is more – more depth, more pressure. He grits his teeth, breathing through his nose. He spills more lube on his fingers, pushing them in farther. He whimpers and pulls them out, biting on his lower lip hard enough to leave a mark as he bends over the arm of the couch, reaching back and breaching himself again, this time with three fingers.

“O-oh.” He gasps the syllables, not actually sure he makes a noise. Fire licks at his ass and thighs, and he pants what little air there is in his lungs against the sofa.

“Sherman?” John’s voice is panicked. “Sherman! Why’s your fucking door unlocked?” He comes around the corner and stops dead, his gun frozen in position. John’s voice is strangled. “Jesus Christ, Ben. Are you trying to kill me?”

His grip loosens and the gun tilts downwards, Ben no longer in its sights.  
“Not…not…you’re…” Ben closes his eyes, tries to focus on something other than the thrust of his fingers. “Early.”

John holsters his weapon and walks over, running his fingers down Ben’s spine, tracing lines through the perspiration. “Looks like I’m late if you ask me.”

“Surprise.” Ben’s voice breaks as John’s fingers slip down to Ben’s wrist, pushing Ben’s fingers deeper. Ben’s back arches. “John…oh, God.”

“You were going to surprise me?” John’s voice is as soothing as the hand he brings up to Ben’s back again, rubbing mesmerizing circles on his skin.

“I wanted…” Ben’s shaking, barely holding himself together. “You said you wanted to see.”

John’s hand flattens on Ben’s back and he groans. “Shit.”

“Want…want...” Ben groans, trying to rock back onto his hand. “Want you to w-watch.”

“Fuck.” John sinks down to his knees slowly, free hand turning Ben’s head and kissing him, hard and rough and possessive. “Show me.” The hand on Ben’s back slides down, easing Ben’s fingers free carefully. Ben’s entire body jerks and every muscle quivers. John helps him stand, supporting Ben when his knees threaten to give way. “I’ve got you,” John murmurs. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Ben shivers, head tilting back, his weight on John. He can feel the heat of John’s chest against his back, and he closes his eyes, reveling in it for a moment.

“Fuck.” John blows out a breath. “What am I going to do with you?” He guides Ben to the arm of the couch, turning him so they’re facing each other and letting Ben rest back against it. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

“You want it.” Ben means it as a question, but it’s not. He can see the answer on John’s face, even through his own haze of want. John’s hunger is palpable.

“Fuck, yes, I want it,” John half-laughs, half-groans. “I want _you_.”

Bean reaches for the dildo, nearly overbalancing. John catches him, resting Ben’s head on his shoulder, grabbing the dildo for him. Ben huffs a shaky laugh, inhaling the clean scent of John through his shirt. “Want.”

“Yeah.” John pulls Ben up and closer to him, placing the dildo onto the arm of the couch, pressing the thick head against Ben’s opening. John swallows and nuzzles Ben’s temple as he holds the dildo steady with one hand, guiding Ben back onto it with the other.

Ben’s mouth opens but no sound comes out. His cock jerks with the pressure, his hard-on easing, a hot rush of blood to his brain making him sway forward. John releases the dildo as Ben rocks back, planting himself firmly in front of him, holding Ben’s shoulders for support. Ben sinks down on the dildo, noises escaping his parted lips, nothing close to words. He grips the edge of the couch arm, rocking slowly, eyes lifting up to meet John’s.

“Jesus,” John breathes. He fingers trace Ben’s shoulders, his collarbone. “You’re fucking unreal, Sherman.”

“I’m real.” Ben doesn’t recognize his voice, breathless and rough. He grasps one of John’s hands and guides it down to his aching dick. “Feel.”

John kisses him, fingers barely feathering down Ben’s length. He brings them up, tips wet and sticky. “Christ, I want to be inside you.” John sucks his fingers clean then traces them over Ben’s lower lip. “Could ride me instead of that.”

“Want…” Ben shudders, the slit of his cock leaking hot, wet streaks down his shaft. “Want your hand.”

“Could bury my fingers inside you.” John kisses him again. “Spread you so wide.”

“Yes,” Ben whimpers. He’s so far gone he can’t stop rocking onto the dildo, his cock so hard, he’s not sure he’ll ever come.

“Come on.” John’s hands are gentle, but Ben feels _everything_ , nerve endings alive and on fire. John guides Ben down onto the floor, onto his back, body spread open like a sacrifice. He kneels beside Ben’s hip, bracing himself on his right hand as he eases the dildo from Ben’s body, the movement forcing a hot gasp that shakes Ben throughout. Ben’s hands scrape against the wood floors, seeking purchase.

“Please. Please. Oh, God. Please.” Ben’s voice shakes, breaks and falls apart. He loses all capacity for words as he watches John lube his fingers, feels him press them against him, inside him, thrusting them deep, the knuckle of his ring finger hard against Ben’s body.

John’s breathing changes rapidly, growing as ragged as Ben’s. Sweat stands out on his skin, and his eyes never leave Ben’s face. Ben’s sweating and shaking, unable to look at anything but John. He can’t read John’s eyes, but there are hints– cracks in his calm façade – that make Ben’s body hot. Blood boiling at the rough sounds John makes in answer to the one’s slipping past Ben’s lips. John shifts back onto his knees and looks down at Ben, heat sparking in his eyes, a hungry predatory smile on his lips.

Ben arches off the floor, body shaking hard enough to fly apart as the cold shock of lube is abated by John pushing a third finger in. Ben chokes out a sound, body tightening hard around John’s fingers.

“Ben…”

“More. God. More. Please.” He’s whimpering, begging. He doesn’t care.

John groans. “Ben.”

Ben whimpers again, doing his best to fuck down on John’s fingers. “Christ. More. Fuck.” His voice is barely over a whisper, his throat dry and hoarse, stripped from desperation.

John’s panting like they’re in a race, his face red. His mouth is moving, but Ben can’t hear him, can only feel constant addition of lube warming against his skin, the thickness of John’s fingers spreading, pushing, stretching him. Tears prick Ben’s eyes, catching in his lashes, blurring John around the edges.

“Ben. Ben.” John leans forward, bracing himself again as his mouth covers Ben’s, kissing him, words moving against his lips. “It’s okay.”

Ben shakes his head, his hands coming up to catch in John’s hair, his kiss sloppy and artless.

“It’s okay,” John breathes into his mouth.

“More.”

“Ben,” John moans his name. “Please. Fuck. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Ben’s vaguely aware that John’s asking him, but he can’t process anything beyond his own desperate need. “Won’t…won’t hurt me.”

“I…”

“John.” Ben moans his name at the hint of pressure as John’s pinkie finger brushes his opening. John groans and shudders, his muscles tensing then going slack. Realization sparks in Ben’s mind – the fact that John just got off without being touched combines with John’s pinkie sliding into him, and Ben loses control, a sob ripping free of his throat as he comes, a hot and painful strike that ends in aftershocks of pleasure.

John’s hot, heavy breath weighs on Ben’s skin, his forehead damp against Ben’s bare shoulder. “Kid, you’re going to kill me.”

“Good…”

John looks up at him with a smirk that’s softer than usual. “Excuse me?”

Ben shakes his head, swallows and tries again. “Good way to go.”

“Stay here, you lunatic. I’ll get you something to drink.” John pulls his fingers out slowly, carefully, but it doesn’t stop Ben from shuddering at their absence, from aching with the loss and discomfort. John gets to his feet and shucks his wet jeans and briefs. “I hope you know I still expect you to feed me.”

Ben laughs, his voice nothing more than a rasp. He’s fairly certain he’s not going to be moving for a long time. “Dinner’s in the fridge.”

“Christ.” John shakes his head and smiles down at Ben. “What the fuck did I do to deserve you?”

Ben smiles and closes his eyes. “Just lucky, I guess.”  



End file.
